Glimpses through your window
by fragments
Summary: A selction of unrelated short stories for your enjoyment. Please note: most stories contain homosexual relations. or slash, yaoi, shonen ai, whichever you like.
1. General post war Severus and Draco

Introduction:

Hello there,

this is a collection of various drabbles for your pleasure. At the beginning of each the main characters (which most often means the implied pairing) are named, the word count and the warnings. These are all assorted musings of mine and not, I repeat, not a story. A few moments out of a few lives if you like, just glimpses through a window.

Standard disclaimer applies: There is absolutely no profit being made off any of this. The copyrighted characters and their world are being used without permission and for personal entertainment only. All things "Harry Potter" are owned by JK Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros., Inc. This work is not intended to challenge the copyright in any way.

Enjoy,

F

A Severus – Draco drabble.  
416 words  
No warnings.

Exile

The loss of magic, or rather the loss of the use of magic, had been the easy part. Surprisingly, even the binding was somewhat tolerable. It was the constant company he was having the most difficulty with.

The city is a young one on land where there previously was water. There is no magic in this muggle travesty. The country is an old one and the magic is strong in it, everywhere but on the slab of land he has taken them to. The inhabitants understand English and there is news of home to be found when one knows where to look. He learned quickly enough when the difference between raincoats and wizard robes became easy to see.

Employment was not too hard to come by for him, a person with understanding of timing and measurement can lay claim to some skills at least. A sad tale of an illness, orphaned children and a lack of compassion helped also. Reading people was always laughably easy and in a country full off accepting numbskulls even more so. He has chosen it for a reason.

There is a roof this time although there is still a need for pots and pans when the weather gets particularly ugly. The furnishings are rather ratty but he had learned to live with this a lifetime ago and it only stings a little. It amazed him to discover what people would throw out because of a hole here and a rip there and the relief of a real mattress opposed to the floor outweighed the injury.

Every time he turned that **child** was there, chewing on already bleeding fingernails.

Pinkish eyes look up at him with an expression he cannot read. There is silver showing underneath the brown, a most distressing sight. To think that those mundane eyes once shone so with defiance. There is only resignation now.

A thin frame, but now distressingly so. Clothing which barely fits or not at all, mismatched socks with bears and ducks and clouds and even skulls on them. A cup of tea which had long gone cold sits on the cabinet doubling as a coffee table.

"Se-… Sebastian."

Still he stumbles over the name. Not too hard to understand, coming from someone whose name came with masses of expectations and accusations. His roots were showing again, he would have to remedy that.

'Seb', that was what those muggles reduced it to. It came close enough to an endearment from long ago to grate on his nerves endlessly.

"Yes, Tom."

The boy cringes and tangles his bleeding fingers in the fabric of his shirt. The name was placed on him for that exact purpose. It never fails and he takes a perverse pleasure from it. He uses the name often.


	2. Bridget Jones Draco Malfoy style

**Draco Malfoy's Diary**

Nov. 12th

_threats issued: 2 (poor), hufflesnuffs reduced to tears: 1 (v. poor), times argued with gryffindorks: 18 (v.g. new personal best), junk owl-ordered: none (v.g., room cluttered as it is), cigarettes: 5 (reasonable, considering), panicked about hair: 1 (v.g. am perfection regardless)_

**8 pm. **

Bollocks. It had to be 'one of those days', didn't it? McG deserves slow, painful, humiliating, painful death. Must owl father and make arrangements. Is getting intolerable and must end at once. Bloody Weasleys taking over. Defence has become battlefield and no little surprise. Bloody Weasleys, bears frequent repeating. Although, long hair quite charming when admired from a distance. Must look in to hair-growth charms, or better, badger Severus for potion. Man is a miracle worker. Skin healthier than ever after his skin lotion. Must write thank you note and send chocolate.

**11 pm.**

Need…air…Goylesocks help…required…fainting…imminent.

Nov 14th

_threats iss: 8 (good), threats rec: 29 (impressive), cigarettes: 23 (had reasons, reasons had long hair), hairsasters: 0 (excellent), gryffindork clashes: 1 (v. poor)_

**11pm**

Had wonderful day today. Weasleys in retrospect not that awful, when reach certain age and pierce ears. Neck sore but in a good way. I wonder if he files his teeth, actually. Came out alive after the sock drama, obviously. Must invest in everfresh charms for Goyle's shoes. It would be in my own best interests so will get right on that. Received owl from father with his sincere sympathies. Not what I asked, but he is getting soft in his old age.

Another Potter-saster in the hallways today, and again, not my fault. I must be getting old myself. There were six of them and I simply had to rush out for one more fag, didn't I? Not my fault his glasses were on the floor with him still wearing them, but I would gladly step on his face on purpose any day of the week. That is to say, as long as he doesn't grab hold of my ankle and pull me down to him, which is what happened. Must keep wand in hand at all times when racing through hallways at stately pace in future. Never know when gryffindorks may be licking floor. Gryffindork habits beyond my meagre understanding it seems. Threw in one good hex, so not all lost in the end. Little Weasley will have fun time with purple ridges on body. Mudblood even more so, if it was her he was sucking the tonsils out of last Tuesday.

Nov 15th

_threats iss: 3 (reasonable), threats rec: 0 (baffling), cigarettes: 28 (reason still has long hair and bad habits), hairsasters: 0 (v.v.g.), gryffsasters: 0 (strange), presents rec: 1 (silk cravat, silver), enemies vanq.: 0 (hey, it's a new item. needs breaking in)_

**2pm**

It's Saturday and I am quite excited. Hogsmeade, although I am a bit late but that should not be a bother. It is good being a 7th year. Zabini promised gelato, hence excitement. Meals in great hall are very below par, plebeian in fact. A Malfoy is anything but. Also, Long-Haired Weasley is rumoured to be in Hogsmede for supervision. Never can be too careful with _the Dark Lord of Doom_ out and about. Tossers.

**5pm**

Disgruntled. Gelato was part of elaborate ruse and now I am thoroughly upset. Zabini should know better, really. He will remember in the future that ruse will only work if Malfoy petrified/bound/wandless/dead. Am not any of those things so Zabini will limp until Monday. Attempts of his to reach infirmary will be foiled by Big and Ugly as per my request. Long-Haired Weasley was in fact in Hogsmeade, another reason am upset bordering on enraged. Said Weasley was touching Potter. Everywhere. That is simply Not On. Spectacled disaster carries germs that not suitable for delicate aristocrats like myself. Sessions with LHW must come to an end. As soon as LHW learns lesson about Malfoys. Must shower now, can still remember tongue and teeth on neck and lips. Perhaps a _Sanitare_ is in order as well.

**1am**

mmmpff, lernd wonder wich iss cosmolopolitan. Ehh, cosmopolitan. Vktor likes vodka too. Mmmm, Vktor.

Nov16th

_threats iss: 744 (have bad day) threats rec: 0 (odd but comforting) cigarettes: 0 (???) hairsasters: 1000s (can't be arsed) gryffsasters: 0 (not left room)_

**7pm**

Ugh. I feel trampled. Like Goyle sat on me with Crabbe on his lap. Never felt worse _in my entire life_. Must have thrown up everything I ever ate in _my entire life_ as well. Look like it as well. There are bags, _bags_ under my eyes. Purple ones!!!! Will exterminate Parkinson and her cocktail of Doom. Bloody, bloody hell. On the upside, half of Slytherin house now terrified, as they should be. Am still furious about LHW and stupid Potter. What's the appeal? Stupid glasses, stupid clothes, stupid messy 'ooh, everyone knows what I look like after a good shag' hair, only HE NEVER GETS SHAGGED ANYWAY, stupid stupid Quidditch muscles. Stupid Boy Who Won't Fucking Die So Draco Can Be Rid Of Him Forever Like He Should. Might become Death Eater just for that despite awful mark and cliché outfits. Better not, delicate aristocrats not meant to kiss icky robes which sweep floors. Might as well buy collar and leash and say 'woof' while they're at it. Daddy is lucky he's a favourite, otherwise Mummy and I would have to murder him and that is Not Done. Ugh, head hurts. Back to bed, Need to make-up 'To Kill' list. Pansy right under Potter and Weasley.


	3. GinnyPansy

A Ginny/Pansy drabble.  
949 words  
No warnings.

_I dream while I walk._

_I've been so fortunate, so incredibly fortunate, in my limitations. I am small, you don't see me. I am quiet, you don't notice me. I am young, you don't even blink. I am a few feet away but it may as well be miles instead. It is my curse it seems to look on from afar and admire or desire but never approach. The day I approach you, we will crack the world._

_You are not pretty, your face is too wide and your cheeks too hollow. Your eyes are a murky sort of colour which is neither blue nor grey nor green and your eyebrows are too thin and too sharp. Your nose is austere and it stands out prominently, mostly due to its sharpness although it is not at all pointed. Many boys would kill for a chin like yours but on a girl it is unsuitable. _

_Then there are other things I noticed, your delicate wrists which tell a story of fragility that would never be believed. Your waist is so thin I could possibly encircle it with my hands but it flows over in to wide hips and legs that seem too long to belong to your body. Your posture is unfailingly correct, shoulders back and chest thrust forward catching many a boy's attention. Not to mention mine, but that is not what attracted me to you._

_Your skin is pale, not alabaster or ivory but deathly pale, so ghostly one could easily mistake you for a necromancer at first glance. That dark, midnight-black hair, which falls over your shoulders in large curls doesn't do much to help your complexion. If anything it makes you more ethereal. Everyone claims you paint your lips in that dark plum colour, but I know better. When you are sure no one is looking you bite them until they bleed, if this is a nervous habit or intention I do not know nor do I much care. _

_I was there, in your forth year, just around the corner and behind a rusted suit of armour. I listened to you as you matter-of-factly informed your mother that her judgment was neither appreciated nor desired for anything from that day on. You declared her hold over you void and generously allowed her the guardianship of the title of 'Lady Parkinson' for a little while yet. _

_That had been my first glance in to the person you have become instead of the persona you project. Everyone around you is so woefully ignorant and it makes me squirm with glee. They don't know you like I do. I am aware that your nails are the only part of you that require a cosmetic charm of any kind in your opinion. I know that you think a girl is demanding but a woman never forward, a boy a waste of time and a man no more and no less than a well-crafted jewel. I know that the only jewel you think is worth your time can be found only in Taymyr and__ is so obscure that even Malfoy quirked a brow until you smothered him in giggles and batting of lashes. I know that you wash your hands at least seven times before dinnertime and scourgify your robes twice in the course of a day._

_When the older students speak you titter but your eyes are narrowed in disdain and not euphoria. When your brother visits you nod your head, when your father does you surrender your spirit. When he smiles your eyes are green. _

_Yes, I have taken to watching you with a vehemence not often found in a student other than Hermione. Yet, everyone seems to forget I am a Weasley and we are notorious for our stubborn streak. A part of me has connected itself to you and isn't about to let go. _

_It is a Saturday and I am content to sit in one of the apple trees with my black journal. You think me morbid? Perhaps I am, somewhat. I do not truly mind Tom, not anymore. He has become one of the certainties, something dependable. Just as I know that the sun will burn even if I do not see it I know that Tom will be there until he is not and that will be dealt with in its own time. I keep this journal because no one will dare touch the black book with its red inscription. Ginevra __Gwenhwyfar, Ginevra the White Ghost. _

"Weasley, a word."

She turns abruptly but there is no fear of falling from her perch in the tree. She has learned to expect a visit at any time and her legs are wrapped around the thick branch in such a way that even Charlie would have trouble dislodging her. She looks down and calmly puts away the quill and journal. Within moments she lands on the damp soil and raises herself to her full height. She is as calm as she could possibly be, after her observations it was blatantly obvious that Pansy Parkinson is hardly oblivious.

"Only one? I would pick a good one, if I were you," Ginevra said, not committing herself to anything.

Pansy nodded once and proceeded to inspect her fingernails for a moment. Suddenly she raised her head up and focused her gaze on Ginevra. "Why?"

Before she could stop herself, Gin responded. "Pardon?"

"Why is it that every time I turn I see you there," Pansy said, her lips contorted in a self-satisfied smile.

Ginevra didn't answer her. She simply slung her bag over her shoulder and walked towards the castle calmly. There had never been any mention of answering anything.


	4. Memoirs HarryDraco

A Harry/Draco drabble  
980 words  
No warnings

Memoirs

Draco's face was all scrunched up as he peered at the page before him. He held it really close to his face, and just to make sure he looked at it from a bit of a distance as well. When that didn't yield any results he turned it upside-down, only to be faced with defeat yet again. He tapped a particularly odd scribble with it finger.

"So, what's that then?"

"What? Oh for Morgana's sake, that's 'equanimity'. Don't tell me you've suddenly become illiterate," Harry exclaimed, underlining the word so ferociously he tore straight through the parchment.

Draco wriggled his fingers in front of his face and rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry dear, I don't read 'gibberish'. That does not say 'equanimity'. It's closest to kanji if anything, see that squiggly line right there? That almost spells 'kitchen'."

Harry pushed away from the table with such force that the chair toppled over and in to the crystal sculpture behind him. He raged through the room for a while, gesturing wildly and cursing everything he could think of only to end up by the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a glass and dumped some ice in it. He held it tightly for a while then took a deep breath and smashed it back on the tray. "Let's finish this so I can kill myself. I can't take another day of this aggravation Drac, I really can't."

Draco was on his feet before he was even through speaking, nimble fingers tangled in the hair on the nape of Harry's neck and he massaged gently. When this was met with a murmur of approval he expanded his exploit to include the shoulders as well and worked his way down Harry's spine. When he felt the muscles loosen he manoeuvred him to the table and pushed him in to a chair.

He took a bottle out of the cabinet and blew the dust off it- old Irish whiskey, courtesy of Seamus and Ron. Sometimes it paid to know people. He poured them both a drink and sat down next to Harry.

"No pain, no glory, peaches. Back to work with you and I don't want to hear so much as a squeak out of you," he said sternly. He carelessly flicked his wand and snatched the quill out of the air before it embedded itself in to his love's skull. He had been on edge more often than not in the past month and it showed in his magic. Everything he did seemed to target Harry one way or another.

He solemnly handed over 'the instrument of doom and destruction' and watched Harry's shoulders slump reflexively.

"You know you could always use a quick notes quill, they-"

"No!"

Draco found his glass rather interesting then and decided to inspect it to the bottom. He really shouldn't complain, he knew. It was after all partly his fault they were in this mess to begin with. It had sounded so innocent though, a simple collection of memoirs written by the youngest man to defeat a Dark Lord, the richest man in Wizarding Britain, the very first _recognised_ half-blood Malfoy, and so on and so on.

Draco had to smother a giggle that was trying to escape him, but he couldn't help how funny it all was. However much Harry desired normality he kept doing things that were completely extraordinary. Not that Draco was complaining.

When he looked at the haggard looking man chewing on the end of his quill, seemingly ready to face certain disaster, he felt ready to take over the project himself. Turning the entire thing in to a work of fiction would be worth it, just to have it over and done with.

Harry let his head slam down on the empty parchment and sighed dejectedly. "I really don't think I can do this any more. I just can't write about myself, it's too … too …"

"Pretentious?"

"That's the word. You see? My mind has shut itself off in the name of self-preservation. That's a sure sign that it thinks I should quit while I still **have** a mind, and incidentally, I'm inclined to follow the advice."

"Alright."

"You don't- what?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry's stunned expression. "It's a word which generally means something like 'I am in agreement with you, I am ready to follow your suggestion'. It originates from-"

"Oh stop it," Harry interjected playfully.

He snuggled in to the arms which embraced him from behind and smiled. "Now this is much better."

"Isn't it? It's just not worth it, you know. Those memoirs? Not really that important. Sure, from a historical viewpoint they would be priceless but the public has already formed an opinion and who are we to try and dissuade them? So, in the grand scheme of things the memoirs are just not worth wasting those few brain cells you have retained," Draco said into his hair.

"And here I was, thinking it was the biggest thing since Merlin's diaries. At least, that's what you said," Harry remarked.

"Never you mind what I said Potter-"

"Malfoy," Harry corrected him.

"Oh that really irks me," Draco muttered irritably.

"It's why I took the name dear," Harry said with a large grin.

"And here I thought it was all to provide Severus with an aneurism."

"Side benefits, oh what would I do without side benefits," Harry said wistfully.

"I'll show you side benefits," Draco growled, and that was the end of the conversation for the day. What followed was a series of growls more befitting large felines than grown men. Ah well, everyone deserves an interlude now and again.

And you know what they say, all work and no play gives certain Malfoys psychotic episodes. Wait, scrap that, all work and no play gives **all** Malfoys psychotic episodes.

Come to think of it…there is very little which doesn't.


	5. Poor Severus AU

A Severus Snape drabble.  
504 words  
No warnings- AU "What if it had actually been Severus who had killed the Dark Lord?"

Oh noes.

Every damn day, it was the same.

"Oh Merlin, it's him! Excuse me, excuse me!"

They were relentless. Once the public got an idea in to their collective mind there was no way to get it out again. He had feared something like that may happen but he had though it unlikely. Those fears usually had him screaming in the middle of the night and awakening drenched in cold sweat.

If he had only _suspected_ his fears were well-grounded, he would have bloody well _pushed_ him in front of the curse. As it was, there was no escaping it. He didn't think he'd done anything in this life or any previous ones to deserve this.

"Oh look, it's _Sevvy_ girls!"

He ducked in to the dark shop just in time to avoid the stampeding horde of hormonal witches. When he finally caught his breath he looked around the dimly lit space to make sure he hadn't tumbled from a storm in to a tornado. He seemed to be in luck, the dingy shop was abandoned.

He really wished someone would put an end to his situation. It was so unfair.

When the moment of truth had finally arrived two years ago, he had been there. He was there to witness the boy attempting to last against Voldemort, who was, incidentally, a _Dark Lord_. It had been pitiful to say the very least. Voldemort could only stall and gloat for so long and when Severus got the idea that the Almighty Atrocious One was getting tired with the game, he intervened. He bowled Potter over and out of the way of the Avada Kedavra heading his way, which he thought was rather kind of him.

Then, to avoid the wrath of his former Lord steeling on him personally, he killed the monster with a simple yet ever so intricate spell the Egyptians used to remove the organs for the embalming process. This way he effectively handed Voldemort his own heart. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

It was all that bloody boy's fault. If he had just done what he was basically raised to do, Severus would not be hiding in a dark, musty and entirely disgraceful shop full of…What was it full of anyway?

He looked around for a bit, feeling kind of obliged to take a look at the place of sanctuary. It had after all saved his sanity for the time being. He picked up a random object and brought it up to his face. It was a boxed figurine of a boy on a broom. When he looked closer the boy grinned and waved at him. He nearly dropped it.

He quickly scanned the rest and felt his stomach lurch. He was everywhere, there were posters, cutlery, clothing, toys and various other junk all had his face stamped all over it. It was actually rather ironic how a shop full of Harry Potter collectibles had saved him. The boy was entirely responsible for his predicament after all.


	6. Feral RemusRegulus

A Remus/Regulus drabble.  
1116 words  
PG-13

And that made nine, in total.

Wasn't that just so bloody typical, he hadn't been inside for more than six minutes, three of which had been spent watching Sirius threaten the house elves they would be dissected if they even squeaked at the werewolf, and he already wanted something to kill. The Blacks had never been a particularly tolerant family, he is well aware of that and has seen it even in Sirius, no matter how hard the other tried to suppress it. Fuck, he needed a smoke.

But really. Three minutes, nine forty second long stares.

Remus was not in the mood for any of that. Having had reservations about coming in the first place, he was not surprised. But he was irritated. His voluminous rust-coloured robes, which Lily has absolutely insisted on, were starting to make his skin itch. And he knew that could not be because of the expensive silk. He tapped Sirius and gave him a look the other knew well, glancing over to the doors leading in to the gardens. Sirus rolled his eyes and made shooing motions, knowing there was little he could do to stop his friend from having his 'moment' and turned back to whichever brainless twit he was chatting up.

Remus sighed, preferring it over chuckling, and began his glide towards the gardens. He believed it a silly way of moving, but there really was no other way in those robes. He remembered Lily saying it made him look dangerous, and smiled.

--

He had been watching. Ever since his brother had walked in with that friend of his, he had been watching him, sometimes out of the corner of his eye, at others behind corners or over people's shoulders. He couldn't help himself, he could only try and not be caught staring like the absolute idiot he was.

He was Sirius'. But Regulus didn't care one whit about Sirius right then and there.

He knew his name; it had been mentioned often enough for him to remember. Remus, Remus with the coppery hair and the luminescent eyes. Remus who moved like a body of water, Remus who looked at the crème de la crème of wizarding society like he smelled something foul. Also, Remus who was gliding through the crowds of people without even allowing the slightest contact with anyone around him. He moved with them, but at the same time he was separate from them.

Regulus had to have him.

He had always been a spoiled child, reaching out to the most desirable items with his natural charm securing them for him each and every time. He was however aware that this time, charm would not suffice. And that was perfectly alright, sometimes there was much to be said for a direct approach.

When Remus had reached the garden doors, Regulus set out in pursuit.

--

Remus reached inside his robe for his pack of cigarettes and expertly fished one out without disturbing the rest, unlike James, who always managed to spill them all on the floor if he wasn't looking. He stuck it in his mouth and lit it, inhaling the strong scent. It amused him how he could enjoy something so foul to his extraordinary senses, but he could and he did. Often. He enjoyed the peace it brought him when it overrode other smells.

But it was not _that_strong.

It was not nearly strong enough to mask the scent of the young male behind him, the scent which clearly betrayed his intentions to Remus. It smelled musky, like Sirius, but it left a tangy impression on him which was entirely unlike Sirius. The smell was euphoric, it was befuddled and it was keen. All this he noticed within the scope of a few heartbeats and when a hand gripped his robe, he was ready.

With unearthly speed and accuracy, he reached behind him and grasped a- ribbon? No, a tie. He twisted it around and pulled the other closer, marginally turning his head to confirm the identity of his assailant.

"What do you think you are doing, child?" he whispered because there was really no need to shout at such a distance, and he knew how his voice would make the other weak in the knees, as it did his brother. He was not blind to the effects of his animal on others.

--

Now that had been unexpected. Regulus swallowed to get the lump in his throat cleared up, but he couldn't, could he. Not being as close to that man, that creation, as he was.

And then he saw the ring, the wolf head staring at him with its jaws spread wide, and the pieces fell in to place. The screaming matches between Sirius and their mother, the side-long glances everyone was giving Remus, his grace and his posture. It all made sense. And he didn't care.

He breathed on Remus' neck, intent on exploiting all the senses the man had. "I think I am getting what I wanted," he said, taking an experimental taste, just a little taste of the soft skin on the back of Remus' neck.

Oh, and it was perfect, he did not taste like forests or like cinnamon or like any of those ridiculous notions the women were always having. He tasted like man, and Regulus wanted more.

--

Remus was perhaps a bit surprised. He knew he really should not have been, there was no reason one Black was unlike the other, and he wasn't. He felt his nails extend, and he smiled with his cigarette clenched between his teeth.

"Really now, isn't that interesting. But I do believe you are about to find out that it's not so clever to prod a wolf," he growled low in his throat.

Using his grip on the tie, he spun around to face Regulus and pressed him against the wall simultaneously. He took a drag of the cigarette and revelled in the contrasting imprints before throwing it on the ground. There was really a need for some freedom of movement, he thought.

"Are you still convinced it is you, who is the aggressor here?"

The boy had the audacity to smirk at him. "Do you believe I wished to be?"

Remus threw back his head and laughed. Now here was something more. Here was something Sirius lacked. He tangled his free hand in the so familiar black hair and tugged, exposing a pale neck leading up to a delicate ear. Giving in to temptation, he gave the lobe a little nibble, and continued to nip his way down to the collarbone. Regulus wormed a hand under his robe and clawed at his shoulder, leaving marks Remus would love to explain.

The wolf in him howled, demanding attention. Remus gave in to him, allowing the beast to force his action and claimed Regulus' mouth, and he did claim, the kiss was all teeth and tongue and sensitivity was right in the corner where sensibility had fled.


	7. Chance meetings implied HarryDraco

We walked slowly, I was allowing myself to take in the surroundings fully. Gods, how long had it been? I'm sure I remembered. It hadn't changed much, the same cobblestones lay under my feet and many of the same shops were still in the places I remembered. Time seemed to pass by Diagon Alley without visibly touching it.

I accepted a small smile on my face when I saw the new model brooms in window display, the memory of my first broom was tugging at me to go inside. When I saw my reflection I looked away. After all that time, and it still ached. I wondered if you would have done the same, had you been in my position. Probably not.

"Father, would you mind?" my son asked, looking at the display longingly.

"No Amadai, I would not mind. You are of course aware that you are not allowed to bring it with you."

The boy looked defiant for a moment but sighed in assent and nodded. I followed him inside and frowned slightly when everyone seemed to turn around and stare at us. I raised one eyebrow and joined my son at the rack I was clearly not the only one who suffered from long-term memory but I would hardly let such a small thing stand in my way.

It made me think of you, of course. You were always going on about the stupidity of people who stared at you for no good reason. I had come to expect it to a certain degree, knowing who I was, but even after years and years you could not.

I hardly heard my son's lyrical description of the model 3b Gangerlay he was salivating over, my mind was miles away. It would hardly be realistic to expect a quiet day of shopping, for that I truly should have ordered everything delivered, but I could also not begrudge my son the experience. The trip for school supplies was something I remembered fondly, no matter how strange it seems.

"…so what do you think?" I heard Amadai say and snapped out of my stupor.

"I am hardly one to ask," I said.

My son gave me a withering look, I'm sure he was aware of my slip. "I can't very well ask a house elf to buy it for me father, really."

"Amadai, be reasonable for once," I said, catching on. "Next year there will be other models to admire and this one will be collecting dust in your armoire. Now let us move on and find the things you truly need, shall we?"

"You're right, of course."

"Aren't I always?" I said amusedly and led us both through the crowd, trying my best to pretend I was not bothered at all. In that one afternoon I understood all your vehement objections to public appearances.

I steered Amadai to Madame Malkin's and sighed at the tinkle of the bell when I opened the door. If there was something I detested, it would have to be announcing myself to everyone. I looked up and my breath caught in my throat. Peace was clearly too much to ask.

Standing in front of the mirror was a small girl, she had to be the same age as Amadai, with the darkest hair I had ever seen. She wore it braided and tied with green ribbons, it bounced up and down as she twirled around in her robes. Her smile was blinding, and those eyes. I knew those eyes so well I could describe them to the smallest detail.

Her father watched her with pride in his eyes, his arms full of wrapped packages. He had changed significantly since I'd seen him last.

"Master Malfoy!"

My heart sank. It was too late to turn around and walk away, too late to avoid facing you again. As expected, you turned stiffly, nearly dropping all your packages, and gaped at me with your mouth open.

"School robes I presume," Madame Malkin said, turning my attention away from those eyes. I had been staring, it seems.

"Yes, it is that time of the year, isn't it," I drawled. "I believe some casual attire as well, perhaps even some winter robes. He seems to have outgrown his wardrobe."

"I cannot help that father," the boy complained.

"Well that's how it is for everyone. I remember your father coming here as a boy sweetling, he was in much the same predicament," the old witch said warmly. She gestured for him to follow and they left me alone. With you.

"It looks very lovely Dominique. Now go and change, will you?" you told the girl who appeared to be your daughter and watched her skip to the changing rooms. You then turned around, your expression unreadable. "Draco," you said in a half whisper.

"Mister Potter."

The name came somewhat difficultly to me; I had spent so long trying to forget it. Of all the people to run in to, this was certainly the worst case scenario. You looked shaken, I imagine that my voice had been somewhat different than you might have desired.

"Congratulations," I added. As soon as I had said it the pain became evident in your expression. Something I had not expected, considering my choice of words.

"A lovely boy. Yours?" you then asked, effectively sidestepping the turn the conversation was taking.

"His mother has many times told me so. The girl is yours," I stated. I needed to know, it is a character flaw I do not wish to change. You had surprised me with your reaction, a thing that happened rarely. I'm sure you knew I would not simply let you avoid it.

"Genetically, yes. Although she's got 'Slytherin' written all over her," you said with a wry smile.

"I'll have you know that Slytherin is a very reputable House."

And just like that a million years worth of recollection crashed over us and it was all I could do to remain standing

_Hurried embraces in dark corners and a multitude of stolen kisses behind closed doors. "We shouldn't" and "I know" followed by "need you", "hold me", "touch me", "don't stop lest it kills me"._ _ Opposites in everything, but too close by far in the things that mattered. _

_Words uttered in haste with too little thought behind them, such anger in the struggle to save face. "Bastard", "Death Eater", "unworthy", "hate you", "you disgust me", and a soft "please" lost in all the shouting, carried away on the wind._

Of all the times I had imagined a meeting between us, I had never though it would hurt as much as it did.

A deep breath, intent betrayed in those eyes. "Draco, I…"

"Spare me, Potter," I spoke coldly, my words punctuated by a loud thump made by my cane on the wooden floor. My father's cane, I'm sure you noticed, and all the restrictions it represented.

"All right then, I will."

A deep burgundy scarf. Another wall.

My eyes wandered and what I saw made my chest tighten considerably. It had to be, Fate had always frowned upon me. I would never be free of her, she hounded me relentlessly, and how could she resist when there was such lovely new blood to exploit.

I could see it unfolding before me, every breath I took seemed to enforce the certainty. A boy. A girl. A vindictive deity.

I inspected the girl closely, it was an opportunity I would be mad not to take. She had her father's eyes, his hair. Even her stance was similar to yours. I frowned and searched frantically for something, anything which might indicate a different presence. I found nothing.

That is not entirely correct, I did find something. I found that the girl talking animatedly with my offspring had nothing at all about her that was not traceable to you. She _was_ you, the tip of her nose, the curve of her jaw. The little girl was Harry Potter. _Ad capite ad calcum_ From head to heel.

You had never married. The newspaper would have written of nothing else for weeks had that been the case. And yet, there she was, raven-haired and green-eyed, brimming with strength and impetuousness.

"Amadai."

"One moment father," my son said absently, returning to his conversation.

I turned to you, desperation written all over my features. I knew it was but I was unable to stop it. I was not surprised to find the look was returned. You had always been prone to rashness but you had never been stupid. I must concede that not much escaped you and I knew you had seen exactly what I had.

"It has begun again," you whispered.

It had indeed, and it would end again as well. We would try, of course.

Yet, we both knew, we are but men.


End file.
